The Cosmic Rolodex

We grow old and die, so slowly, and yet in the blink of an eye. Generations flip past on a cosmic rolodex of family names, blurring into each other, losing meaning, ripping out of the deck or quietly going insane. Now and then the spinning stops and a name stands out in full detail, there is a number to call.

We live like angels, we live like trolls. We spread life or disease, we are crawling on our knees, for prayer or despair, for water or for air. Does it matter, does anyone care?

The rolodex spins faster, it is about to blow apart. Life is birthed, shrivels, greys, passes away, replaced by the next card in the pack. Flipflipflipflip! One pair of eyes watches it, fast. Every name memorized in an instant. Details stored in perfect clarity. These eyes know you. These eyes know me.

Time stops.

Ripped pages steeped in blood are piled up on the floor, where they leaped in evil glee after torturing humanity. One pair of hands sweeps them up and tosses them into the fire. The same hands lovingly straighten the mass of crumpled names that remain on the sullied desktop, smoothing out each crease, tending to each tear.

His desk is wiped clean, his work re-arranged, and quietly does he write each name into brand new card file. Pristine, intact. A thousand years pass. It is a blink of his eye, his pen moves so fast.

You wake up. You and I.


A Story of a Minotaur, or “What a Lot of Bull.”

And this is how the story begins, with a letter, freshly written on rumpled lined paper, barely brushed free of sleep and hidden dreams.

Dear brother,

I walked down the maze,
and saw the Minotaur
eating human flesh.

His keepers wrapped a rope
around my delicate neck.

The stocks were for me
and my whole family.

And all that was left
of old Mr Plod,
was a cap
in a cauldron of hot cat.

The Minotaur’s trainer
began the Appetizing Game,
Showing the wild monster
some blood
without screams.

(He did not wish
to put the beast off)

The stabbings began
and I was stretched on a rack;
The Minotaur slept
after a complex mating ritual.

What a lot of Bull.

The lid lifted on the maze.
The sun dried up the blood.
The mad Minotaur
screamed in pain
as the light shone bright
on all his mutated ugliness.

And his lovers
were shot, by a passing helicopter
of Armed Defenders.

They discovered the Magician
still clutching trembling wand,
curled up in the corner
repeating his own name.
They chopped off his fame.

Dear brother,
I saw
the mad Minotaur
as they turned him into mincemeat
and dug him into the garden.

Where now I sit.
Enjoy the sweet scent of blossoming Spring.
Dear brother,
It was a long time ago,
and I sincerely want you to know,

the madness of the maze
has been clearly exposed.

Your sister,
in truth.

===== Also on video courtesy of YouTube ====

My pesk, my stray cat

My story is about a darling stray cat, who arrived suddenly with a meow for company and food, and we gave in too easily, must have wanted the feline company. So the cat got the cream.

The brief encounters in the afternoon sun were a delight with a game of chase the lavender stalk and pretend it’s a mouse, and some friendly scritchies under the chin in passing.

And then the regularity and expectation set in. The caterwauling at the window, seeking to get in. The house is out of bounds. We close the windows to an un-catsized crack, and keep the door swung-to. No fleas allowed.

We sleep in and raise the kitchen blinds to see the cat staring gauntly like a statue set in stone. I let the breeze in, and the cat comes to life stiffly, then clambers across thin hibiscus branches to a whisker’s breadth of the window. Meowing all the way, in a why-have-you-taken-so-long manner.

I reach out through the cramped space and we greet affectionately, face shoved into knuckles, and itchy scratches under the chin…

Until the cat’s eyes narrow and fixate on the windowsill, its whole body elongating to reach for the tiniest entranceway to our home. It pushes the fond hand away. It wants to get in.

I close the window.

The meowing starts again, as it spies out the eggs sizzling on the stove.

Narrowed eyes on my every move. A cup of something with cream… It’s mine! Says the Cat.

I do not want the responsibility. I do not want the regularity, of 6am feedings, and settling for the night. I want my freedom, to travel, unencumbered. Says I, while imagining myself curled up with a warm purring cat by the fireside.

My kids pick treats from the hip-high fridge, and open the back door. The cat bounces and dances along its network of hibiscus slackropes until it leaps from the tree and with bolt-upright tail greets them with back-arching vigour and enthusiastic wail.

The cat got the cream.

(I handed it out the back door, willingly, call it pity if you please. It is such a pesk, it reminds me of me…)


I see an open window!


Bouncing the slackrope, careful, balance…


I SEE YOU! Here I come!


Meeeooow! What’s for breakfast?

Add a Something Flash Fiction #4

This is growing into something interesting. Here’s an index of the Somethings so far:

Add a Something Flash Fiction #1 In which Chainsaws Bite

Add a Something Flash Fiction #2 In which Something gets stuck, Squiggle is a darling Plodopuss who is destined to take over the world, and someone was a friend, until the truth is revealed.

Add a Something Flash Fiction #3 In which an intruder brings tears to my eyes.

Once again, simple rules, one comment for the beginning, one comment for the middle, and one comment for the end.

First commenter sets the scene.



PS. While out blog-foraging, I came across this cool blogger’s idea for getting through writer’s block

Add a Something Flash Fiction #3

Thanks to all who joined in on the last one!

This one has rules… you’re allowed to break them…

The rules are to make it real quick to finish one story.

First comment is the beginning
Second comment is the middle
Third comment is the end

No topic – the first comment sets the scene.

Have a go 🙂

Add a Something Flash Fiction #2

Different rules this week – add a line or so and keep the story going. Join in anytime.
Topic today – choose from:

It Stuck
She was a friend
Squiggle the Plodopuss


The Kingdom Where Peace and Happiness Abound

Copyright (c) 2013 Anasera Trifonoff All rights reserved. (An exception to the Creative Commons license on this blog!) All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No bears or children were hurt in the making of this fairytale.

Little Saro walked into the forest with news to tell the bears about the golden Palace of the King, and the beautiful Kingdom of Peace he was building for his loyal subjects.   Eyes wide with child-like wonder, she looked at the beautiful City one last time before she turned and entered the dark forest.

All the bears were invited to enter the gates of the glorious City, and Saro was ready to pass on this happy invitation to all the bears, big and small, who lived in the dark wild forest.

Saro came across many bears who had no interest in the invitation, but welcomed her to join their wild bear parties.  Saro quickly tired of trying to find opportunities to speak with them.  So, she left in search of another kind of bear, a bear who would listen.

She wandered a long time through the dark, wild winter of the forest. Searching, and searching, until at last, a Big Bear coming out of hibernation saw her, bedraggled and weary, and offered her his old cave to keep her warm and dry.  She gladly accepted.  She was sure this was a bear who might accept the King’s invitation!

For many a day, Big Bear and Saro spoke about all manner of things.  Big Bear shared in all good things with Little Saro.  He showed her how to find the best berries, and shared his hard-earned pawfuls of honey with her, straight from the buzzing hive.

Big Bear even tried to teach her how to fish, bear-style, but she was only a little girl, and simply couldn’t learn how.

Then, one day, after many a talk about the beautiful Kingdom where Peace and Happiness Abound, Big Bear stood up on his hind legs, and looked at Saro very hard, before announcing that she must surely be one of those Hunters reported to be reaching into the heart of the forest. And surely Little Saro must be about to kill him!  Then he turned his back and loped off, never to be seen again.

Little Saro kept in touch with the other bears who lived close-by, but they did not show any interest in the King’s invitation. Then, one day, as she sat in the mouth of the old cave, another girl, and a boy, came up close to meet her.  They were happy, and smiled as they spoke of the wonderful new Kingdom which their King was building, and how she was invited too!

Saro blinked bearishly in the dark of her cave, uncertain of whether Big Bear was right about Hunters, and worried that this boy and girl might want to kill her. Or perhaps they wanted to hunt down Big Bear, as he had feared!

She determined to test out whether it were true.  The more she tested, the more she knew.

The boy and and girl kept coming to visit, and they brought other friends like them too. They kept inviting Saro to meet with them in a clearing in the deep, wild, dark woods.  And presently, Saro accepted.

The clearing was beautiful.  Sunlight streamed into the glorious, green-carpeted gathering. Many boys and girls smiled, and spoke to each other, and introduced themselves kindly to Saro, and all spoke of the Wonderful Invitations which they held in precious armfuls ready to give out.

Saro kept looking for hidden signs of Hunters, but found that others were assigned the job of checking for Hunters. A group of the smartest, strongest, most loving and kind-hearted boys were honoured to be chosen for this role.  They carefully checked every member of the gathering to make sure no-one carried knives or guns.

And others were assigned to travel back and forth to the Palace Gate to bring more supplies, and, of course, invitations to every kind of bear imaginable.

The more Saro met with them, attended their gatherings, and spoke with them about their work, the more she began to notice how similar they were to herself. Perhaps the bears were wrong, she thought warily. They had told her there was nothing more to life than finding berries, and sweeping out the cave. They had not listened to her about the Precious Kingdom, where Peace and Happiness Abound. Saro now puzzled, “Why?”

Even Big Bear, who had shared everything with her, and provided her with his old warm cave, had wished that she would stop speaking about the King from outside the forest, whom Big Bear did not believe existed. “There is only the forest, and bears, and wolves!” he declared.

Saro wondered at this little group in the clearing – they all had bundles of invitations, and never ceased in happily giving them out. They kept up their spirits by meeting together regularly, some every day, and reminding each other of the Happy Kingdom which was near completion.

Little Saro forgot her bearishness, and felt the comfort of being near this bunch of boys and girls who seemed just like her.

Although Saro forgot her bearish ways, some of the boys and girls still thought she really was a strange kind of bear.  Spending so much time alone in the deep, dark, wild, tangled forest with the gruff, rough bears had made Saro strangely tangled and rough and tough too!

They would not allow her to join in with the other boys and girls, as they learned how to walk in a group, and visit many bears in one day. How to speak cheerfully and give out invitations to the wonderful new Kingdom, getting closer to completion day by day.

Saro started to despair. How would she convince them that she was one of them, but had only invited bears by word of mouth, and only those few who showed interest, at that.

She looked at herself – the wildly tangled forest hair, and the scruffy old leaves that made do for clothes, and the scars and scratches from tangles with bears and other wild forest folk.

Her heart weakened as the older boys still eyed her with suspicion even after she scrubbed and trimmed and found new clothes from the places some of the kinder girls whispered of quietly.

Now Saro discovered the unkindness of other boys and girls who wished she were still in rags and tatters, because they were forgetting who they were, emissaries of the Kindly King.

Little Saro’s heart began to break. How she remembered kindly Big Bear.  How she longed for his friendly, accepting company. How she wished he had stayed.

Big Bear had been certain of Hunters, and now it seemed, there was something worse than Hunters here. Hunters wanted meat, and fur to keep warm, and some hunted just for the kill. But Hunters were not emissaries of the King Himself, and if a bear were shot by one of their foul arrows, he could be raised to life according to his kindly bear deeds.

Some of these worse-than-Hunters were blocking the doors to the Kingdom, and crushing her soul, while proudly wearing the King’s name on their brow. She saw them look down their noses at the bears, and toss the invitations down at their feet, or clutch them tightly to their chest, not willing to give them away.

These would not last as long as an ignorant Hunter, Saro supposed, as she heard fast hoof-beats approaching, and saw the messenger from the Palace Guard, with a sword at the ready to clear the King’s name from the brow of the unworthy.

Little Saro crumpled as she sighed her heart-broken sigh. She had seen all, from the King’s own Palace and grounds, to the forest beyond.  All things lay bare and exposed before her, and she yearned to be by the King.

The Prince Himself arrived on his white steed, and picked Little Saro up off the ground.


"Come, Rejoice Little Saro,
  and Come Be With Me,
    You'll find refreshment for your thirsty Soul.

 Drink deep,
     Pure and true,
        the word I bring to you -
You will find your heart's desire."


And as she slipped out of life, into death’s cold hand, the Prince galloped ever faster to reach a golden tower where Saro would live once more.